


Something Just Like This

by TheMagicWord



Category: Coldplay (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Chris is sweaty, Harry's into it, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 05:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15988640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagicWord/pseuds/TheMagicWord
Summary: Chris comes off stage after a gig. Harry's waiting in his dressing room.





	Something Just Like This

Harry was waiting for him in the dressing room when Chris got off stage. No one had told him. There’d obviously been a breakdown in communication somewhere along the line because there was no way someone should be in his dressing room without him knowing, but he had to admit he was glad he hadn’t known. He hadn’t had time to be nervous. Or excited. Or to second-guess why he might be there. Harry was there and Chris had to deal with it. 

Except not yet. Because Harry hadn’t seen him yet. He was still standing just in front of the dressing table, leaning forward a little from his waist, reading a postcard tucked into the corner of the mirror. His own postcard. One of the cards he’d sent Chris over the past year since they’d last seen each other. Chris couldn’t remember which one it was, where it had been sent from, but he knew that he’d carried it around with him for months, first using it as a bookmark (he’d been reading Rumi, because Harry had told him  _ he  _ was reading Rumi) (he was ridiculous) and then, once the tour started again, in the mirror at every venue. 

Harry glanced into the mirror and spotted Chris. Chris watched his face transform into that slow, wide smile. 

“Heyyyyy,” he said, turning and taking a couple of steps into the centre of the room. 

“Hiya,” Chris said, his voice cracking. But that was understandable - he’d just come off stage. Yeah, it hadn’t been a full show, just a couple of songs, but still. 

“You were great,” Harry said. 

Chris always forgot how deep and slow Harry’s voice was. He also forgot how tall he was. How green his eyes were. That fucking dimple. (He hadn’t forgotten any of it really, but he had at least tried to. A bit.) 

“Thanks,” Chris said, taking his own steps until he and Harry were standing face to face, just a couple of feet apart. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Chris said. Harry looked older, he thought. More confident, self-possessed. But then he was a film star now. Fuck. 

“I didn’t know I was going to come,” Harry said. “But I had a free night and…” His tongue poked out and licked the corner of his mouth. 

“And?” Chris said. 

Harry shrugged, all easy charm. “I wanted to see you.” 

Chris nodded. “It’s good to see you, man. I’ll just get a shower and--” 

“Don’t,” Harry said and just for a second Chris saw a flicker of nerves. It made him feel better about the butterflies leaping in his own stomach. 

“Don’t?” 

Harry shook his head, raking his eyes down Chris’s body and back up to his face. “Don’t. I’ve been thinking about… this.” 

Chris wanted to push him right back onto the sofa, but he forced his feet to stay still, his hands to remain by his sides. 

“This?” 

“You,” Harry said. “Coming off stage. Me waiting for you. You hot and… sweaty and--” 

Chris heard himself make a sound. Something close to a whimper. That was embarrassing. But, Jesus, this boy. 

“Yeah?” Harry said. 

Chris hadn’t even had a chance to reply when Harry took another step forward and tangled his massive hands in the sides of Chris’s t-shirt. Chris glanced over his shoulder towards the door - he didn’t think he’d locked it, wasn’t sure he’d even closed it. He’d better--

Harry’s tongue on the side of his neck, licking from the muscle at his shoulder up to just under his ear. A moan that he wasn’t sure was him or Harry. 

“Been thinking about this,” Harry said. “Wanted it for so long.” 

“Door,” Chris said, “I need to…” 

“Yeah,” Harry murmured against Chris’s neck. “Lock it.” 

Chris practically staggered over to the door, knocking it closed with his hip, turning the key in the lock, checking the handle. Locked. Definitely locked. He was almost afraid to turn round again, but when he did, he found Harry was still just standing there, arms hanging down at his sides. He looked almost completely relaxed, but his cheeks were pink, his eyes dark. 

“Fuck,” Chris breathed. 

He’d been on stage. Running. Singing. Interacting with the crowd. It had been - as it always was - amazing, thrilling, invigorating. But this was better. Walking across the room towards Harry, knowing Harry wanted him the way he wanted Harry, the way he’d wanted Harry since the first time he met him… it was better. He didn’t really know what to do with that information. 

He didn’t stop when he reached the boy in the middle of the room, he kept walking until he was pressed right up against him. He heard a soft “Oof” as the air went out of Harry’s body, but then Harry’s hands were on his hips, and Harry’s mouth was brushing against his. 

“Missed you,” Harry said softly. 

And then they were kissing faster and hotter, Chris’s hands in Harry’s hair - it was short now, it had been long the last time they’d done this. Chris had an image of his own fist wrapped in Harry’s soft dark hair at the nape of his neck and felt his dick hardening in his too-tight jeans. 

Harry was an incredible kisser. Chris had known as soon as their lips had touched, that first time, that he was going to want to keep kissing Harry whenever he got a chance. Maybe, like, forever. But Harry came and he left and he kept in touch just enough to ensure that Chris was ruined for anyone else. He was surprisingly cool with it. It was a problem. But not one he was going to think about right now. 

Their teeth bumped, and Harry tipped his head back, laughing a little. Chris attached his mouth to the side of Harry’s neck, grazing the muscle with his teeth. 

“No marks,” Harry said. 

“I know,” Chris murmured. But, god, he wanted to bite down. He wanted to leave marks all over this boy so everyone would know. But of course no one could know. 

“Lie down,” Chris said now, pushing Harry back towards the couch. 

Harry went easily, stretching his long legs out and propping his feet - in ridiculous blue and silver cowboy boots - on the arm of the sofa. 

“Fucking look at you,” Chris said, staring down. 

“I’m looking at _you_ ,” Harry said easily. 

And Chris was gone. He lay fully on top of Harry, slotting one of Harry’s thighs between his own and groaning low and his dick rubbed against his jeans. 

“Take these off,” Harry said, hand snaking down between them. 

Chris lifted his hips and let Harry work a hand down behind his waistband, fingers grasping and pressing, the button on his jeans popping, the zip sliding. He bit at Harry’s shoulder as Harry curled one hand around Chris’s cock and used the other to push his jeans down. 

“Off,” Harry said, curling up to look down between their bodies. “Take them off.” 

Chris didn’t want to stop, not even to get his clothes off. He wanted to carry on licking and biting at Harry’s skin, wanted to see if he tasted the same as last time they’d done this, wanted to press his fingers against Harry’s ribs, slide his hand under Harry’s clothes, rub against him until he saw stars. But Harry wanted his clothes off so he had to take his clothes off. 

He knelt between Harry’s thighs and pulled his damp t-shirt over his head, dropping it down behind the sofa. Harry was still tugging at his jeans and there was no way to take them off while he was on the sofa, so he stood and pushed them down, stepping out of his socks at the same time. Harry, still fully dressed, lay back and watched Chris get naked. 

“And you,” Chris said, hesitantly. Somehow Harry always had the upper hand. It was disconcerting. Chris was older, more experienced (he assumed), more successful. But Harry always seemed to know exactly what he wanted and it wrong-footed Chris every time. 

Harry swung his legs round on the sofa and stood up. 

“I was thinking I wanted you to fuck me over the sofa,” he said, reaching out and running his knuckles down the centre of Chris’s chest. “But since you mentioned shower… now I’m thinking--” 

“Yes,” Chris said, reaching for the bottom of Harry’s t-shirt and lifting it. He kind of wanted to fuck him over the sofa and then again in the shower, but the shower was where he generally let himself do most of his thinking about Harry - hand curled round his cock, biting into his bicep when he came - so actual Harry in his actual shower was a very good idea. 

“Eager,” Harry said, smiling and Chris pressed up and against him again, even though Harry was still in his ridiculous black jeans and boots. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” Chris said, against his mouth and Harry groaned then, hands skirting briefly round to the small of Chris’s back, pressing their bodies together, and then he was pushing his own jeans down, bending to step out of them so Chris could see the muscles in his back tense and ripple. Shit. He wanted to fuck him. Here. Now. 

“Harry,” he said. “I can’t…” 

Harry kicked his boots out of the way, turned and lay himself over the arm of the sofa. Chris felt like all the breath had left his body. God, Harry was so fucking gorgeous. His long legs and strong thighs and small waist, soft hips. He didn’t even know where to begin. 

“Come on,” Harry said, looking back at him over his shoulder. “Get in me.” 

“Jesus. You’re so--” 

He slid his hands along Harry’s sides, pausing for a second to grip his hips, lining himself up between Harry’s legs. He wanted to press straight in, to pull Harry back on his dick but instead he let his fingers drift down between Harry’s legs, glancing over his balls before pressing up again and ghosting over his hole. 

“Fucking hell, come on,” Harry said, his head hanging down over the side of the sofa now. “I’m ready.” 

“You’re not fucking ready,” Chris said. “I need lube.” 

“In m’jeans,” Harry said, reaching over and flicking them towards Chris. 

Chris bent down and fished a small bottle of lube and a string of condoms out of Harry’s pocket. 

“Six?” he said, hanging them over the back of the sofa. “You’re keen.” 

“Shurrup,” Harry said. 

Chris felt suddenly ridiculously fond, leaning forward to press a kiss between Harry’s shoulder blades and up to the back of his neck, his dick sliding up against Harry’s arse and between his cheeks. Harry let out an absolutely filthy groan, pressing up on his toes and back, hard, against Chris. Chris’s legs already felt weak, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to last long like this and they hadn’t even started yet. He took a breath and stepped back, rubbing over Harry’s hole and pushing a finger inside. He gripped Harry’s hip with his other hand as he opened him up, trying to think of distractions and not focus on Harry’s biceps and shoulders, the nape of his neck where his hair was already curling damply. 

“I’m ready,” Harry groaned, clenching around Chris’s fingers. “Come on, Chris. I’m ready. I like it to hurt a bit.” 

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” Chris moaned, grabbing the condoms from the back of the sofa. He unwrapped one with shaking fingers and held his breath as he rolled it onto his painfully hard cock before pressing inside Harry. Harry arched back for the first few seconds, before going limp over the arm of the sofa. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Feels so good.” 

Chris couldn’t have spoken if his life had depended on it. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Harry hot and tight around him was just the best thing he’d ever felt. After the last time, he hadn’t been sure he’d ever get to do it again and now he wanted to enjoy every second. 

“Come on,” Harry said, pressing back again, making heat curl in Chris’s belly. “Come on. Fuck me.” 

Chris shuffled his feet either side of Harry’s, gripped Harry’s hips with both hands and pulled out as far as he dared, before slamming back in. The sofa shifted and Harry grunted and Chris bit hard on his bottom lip. He wasn’t going to last. But he needed this to last. 

“Faster,” Harry said, his voice scratchy with want. 

“Fucking hell, Styles,” Chris said, pulling back slowly again. “So bossy.” 

Harry pushed up on his arms and Chris dropped his head to press his mouth between Harry’s shoulder blades again. He was so deep like this, curled over Harry, his chest flush against Harry’s back. He wanted to pull Harry up against him and get a hand around his cock, but that wasn’t what Harry wanted now and he wanted to give Harry what he wanted. 

He started snapping his hips, his hands sliding down Harry’s sides, gripping his hips hard. Harry was groaning, his head thrown back, arms flexing as he braced himself against the sofa. Chris glanced down and watched his cock sliding in and out of Harry and immediately had to look away. There was no way he’d last if he had to watch that. He could barely even let himself think about it. He looked around the room for a distraction, but instead he saw Harry’s reflection in the mirror in the corner. He couldn’t see himself, just Harry’s face: eyes scrunched tight, mouth open, cheeks pink. He needed to look away, but he couldn’t. Harry was just so… 

“Fuck…” Harry groaned, pressing back again. “I’m so fucking close.” 

Chris curled over him again, wrapping one arm around his chest, holding him firmly. He was so deep like this. He pressed his face into Harry’s neck until he felt the heat building in his belly. His legs were trembling. He could hear himself making sounds he’d be embarrassed about later. 

“Look up,” Harry said, his voice low. 

Chris looked up, he didn’t even think, didn’t hesitate. In the mirror he saw Harry. And he saw himself, fucking Harry, and he came so hard he almost blacked out. 

*

“Fuck,” Chris said. “I need to shower.” 

They were side by side on the sofa, legs stretched out on the coffee table. They’d drunk a beer, smoked a little - Chris always felt like he was corrupting Harry when they smoked, which was ridiculous, but still - and Chris had started thinking that he probably had somewhere to be. 

“What time is it?” he asked, stretching to see if he could reach his phone. He couldn’t. 

“Dunno. Have you, like, are you meant to be somewhere?” 

“Probably? I don’t know. Fuck it. What about you?” 

“Not tonight,” Harry said. 

Chris felt his dick twitch. This boy. And his ridiculous low voice. He did this to him every time, made him forget everything that wasn’t him. It was a good job he didn’t come around often, Chris would go out of his head. 

“Should probably be thinking about getting out of here,” Chris said. “Don’t want to get locked in.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” Harry said. He rested his forehead on Chris’s shoulder. “I could think of a few things we could do.” 

Chris huffed out a laugh and stood up, gathering his clothes from where they were strewn around the room. 

“Want to come back to the hotel?” Chris asked. He thought he’d managed to make it sound casual, but maybe not. He straightened up, pulling on one sock. 

Harry was still on the sofa, naked, tattoos standing out dark against his pale smooth skin. He was going to say no, Chris knew, but at least he’d made himself ask. He had to ask. 

“Yeah?” Harry said, dropping his head back to look at Chris upside down. 

“If you want,” Chris said. He wanted to kiss him. Upside down. Like Spiderman. God, he was ridiculous. Harry made him ridiculous. 

“Sounds good,” Harry said. “And we can get a shower when we get there, yeah?” 

“Yeah, definitely,” Chris said. He pictured Harry in the shower, water streaming down his chest, pressing him up against the tiles, his handprints on the steamed-up glass, on his knees and looking up, his long eyelashes glistening with droplets. 

“Let’s go,” Chris said. 

Harry zipped up his boots. Shrugged on his jacket. Said, “I hope it’s not far.” 

“It’s not,” Chris said. 

And he knew Harry wouldn’t stay. Knew he’d wake up alone in the morning. Knew he might not hear from Harry again for months, if ever. But it was something. Something good that he would let himself have. 

 


End file.
